


Hacksaw

by Rag



Category: Homestuck
Genre: BDSM, Dubious Consent, Grief/Mourning, Lack of Communication, M/M, Painplay, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, not ssc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 07:15:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11984862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rag/pseuds/Rag
Summary: dave doesn't want to punish himself, so he tries to make karkat punish him





	Hacksaw

It’s been two weeks since Dave’s heard from John. After John went to the planet that exploded. With Davesprite tagging along with him.

The first few days, Dave was pretty sure he knew what must have happened, but he held out some hope. Maybe they got out in time, and they were recovering somewhere. Maybe they lost their phones. Maybe they got stranded in space. Maybe they were alive. Probably not, or there would have been some fucking sight of either of them in any of the 13 days that passed. Nothing. Zilch. Nada.

And Dave had gone looking. He flew to the planet to see the desiccated fragments of rock and grass. Nothing, no sign of them, and no fucking way they could have survived being in a ten mile vicinity of the blast. No sign of them on neighboring planets. No word from their phones. Nothing. Because that’s what’s left of them, now. Nothing would have survived it. There’s no bodies because there’s just. Nothing left.

Davesprite is easier to think about. It’s really fucked up that he… fuck. It’s really fucked up that he died, probably, almost definitely. But that just adds another dead Dave to the hundreds-thick pile that’s stacking up. He’s probably the king of the heap. He’s used to dying, too. He can probably take it. Maybe. Dave wouldn’t be terribly upset to die, so he’s extrapolating to Davesprite. Yeah, he’s probably jamming out in some dream bubble right now, with John- fuck.

_He shouldn’t have had to die. I should have gone with them. If I’d been there I could have done something. Why didn’t I go with them?_

Dave tries not to think about it. He’s good at this, at least. Kind of. He’s been better at repression, he feels like he’s losing his edge. He keeps catching himself starting to cry and stopping. Stop that. He feels like he doesn’t deserve that, not when it’s his fault that they’re…

Karkat doesn’t try to comfort him too much. He did a little the first few days. _I’m so sorry, fuck, are you okay,_ shit like that. He stopped doing it after Dave left the room to be alone. But he’s doing all this sweet shit - getting him water, putting his dirty clothes in the dirty clothes corner, giving him shoulder rubs. It’s so fucking sweet that Dave almost hates it. When Karkat offers to give him a back massage, Dave almost refuses, because he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve to be alive, and he doesn’t deserve to have a caring boyfriend who wants to make him feel better and is struggling to find some way to do that. Fuck, Dave is so selfish. Is he going to keep fucking refusing him that simple fucking comfort? Really?

“Sure,” he says. Lays down and hikes his shirt up.

Karkat starts by scratching him softly. Which gives him an idea. Sometimes when they’re screwing around, Karkat scratches at his back, and it hurts and blooms and feels good. He could go for some of that right now. He could go for a lot of that right now. He deserves to be in pain.

“Harder.”

Karkat scratches him a little harder. Not enough.

What was the last thing he said to John? “Peace.” It’s so lame. Because he didn’t know, how was he supposed to know? It was just like any other mission. Stupid. And now his last words to John were fucking “peace,” following a conversation about the Goofy Movie. So fucking stupid. He should’ve broken down the barrier a little. Just once. Just once in his fucking life, told John that he was his best friend and that he valued the fuck out of their relationship and that he was fucking rad. But no. Goofy Movie. Peace.

“Harder.”

Karkat digs him claws in a little more. It stings, and it’s good, and then it’s not enough.

“More. Harder. Make it hurt.”

He hesitates for a second, then digs them in deep and drags them down. That’s better. It’s better. Dave groans and clenches at the bedsheets. Good. This is good. This is what he gets. This is good, he’s in control of this, he deserves worse than this.

Karkat stops. "Is this like, a, um, a, uh-“

“A sex thing, yeah.” Fuck, it’s cute, how he can do these raunchy-ass things like make his back bright red with claw marks in the heat of the moment, but when he’s out of it, he can barely even get the words out. He turns back to look at Karkat. “You down?”

“O-oh,” Karkat stammers a little, and Dave can see his blush. “Yeah, sure, it’s, uh, just kind of random, but uh, yeah. Okay. If you want.”

He scratches at Dave again. The pain is bright and sharp, but it fades too fast, even as he keeps up the speed and pressure and it builds a little more and a little more. But it’s not enough. He deserves worse. He wants it to hurt so bad he can’t think. He wants to be afraid. He wants that blaring, shocking pain of a broken bone and a fractured wrist. He wants to not know when it’ll stop, please stop, Bro, please– haha, what the fuck, moving on away from that mental tangent.

“Fuck, Karkat, it’s good. More, please, more.”

Karkat stops and pulls away.

“Uh.”

“What?”

“If I do any more, you might bleed, and uh.”

It takes Dave a second to process that. He almost, almost opens his mouth and shares his stupid thoughts. _Yeah, that’d be great, that’s exactly what I want._ Terrible boyfriend, terrible person that he is, forgetting for even a fucking second that he’d be asking Karkat Haemophobia Vantas to rip him to shreds.

“Fuck. Uh. Fuck. Okay.” Dave gets an idea. “Can you hit me instead?”

Karkat looks uncertain. Concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m great. It’s hot, you know? I just really want.” It’s not a lie. He wants Karkat to beat the fucking shit out of him. He wants someone to make him pay for what he did/didn’t do. He wants to get fucking lost in the pain and fear and the sick thrill of knowing that he’d survive it, any amount of beating, because Karkat wouldn’t kill him even if he physically _could_ (and he can’t, unless this is as just as it feels, but something tells Dave that the game wouldn’t buy that line of reasoning). He wants to test the capacity of this godhood shit with agony.

Something tells him that Karkat wouldn’t be super down with that. Imagine that, that Karkat probably wouldn’t want to be a razor for Dave to cut himself on. A little voice in his head tells him that maybe that’s a sign that he shouldn’t do it. But, fuck you, voice. “It’s a kinky thing, you know?”

“It… it is?”

“Yeah. Like, you guys do this with blackrom, right?” Oh, bad move, absolutely not the right thing to say, Karkat looks horrified. “I mean, it’s not blackrom with us, we’re-“

“No, it’s not! You explicitly said you didn’t want that!”

“Okay, no, but like, hear me out, uh. Just, sometimes humans do that with their matespirits.”

“They _do_?”

“Yeah, sometimes. I mean, not a lot. But some people are into it. And I’m one of those people.”

“Uh.”

“Come on, please? I really want it. It’d feel good. Like. You know?”

“I, uh. I guess? If you really want it.” Karkat looks extremely uncomfortable.

“Thanks, dude.”

“So, what, like, right now?”

“Yeah, ASAP would be good. Just lay it on me.”

Karkat raises his hand hesitantly and Dave does his fucking damndest not to flinch. He just holds it there, looking at Dave’s shoulder and his own hand, back and forth.

“You gonna do it? Don’t leave me hanging.”

“Y…yeah, okay.”

And he hits him. It smarts, kind of, but it’s so tentative that it doesn’t even start to do the trick. “Harder, dude, I can take it.”

He hits him again, harder, on the side of his arm. It makes a dull thwacking sound and the pain blooms. Dave hisses.

If he’d been there with John, he could have rewound time and undid it. If he’d just fucking gone with, they would both be alive.

“More.”

Karkat jabs at him again, so fucking hesitant with it. Like he’s just dipping a fucking toe in hot water. Ooh, too hot, gotta come back later. Fuck that.

If he’d just fucking intuited it just fucking gone along for one fucking day instead of dicking around doing nothing. What the fuck was he doing instead? He was writing a fucking rap while his best friend was dying.

“More, come _on_ , hit me.”

“Dave…”

“What?” Dave looks up and sees that Karkat looks kind of distraught. “Shit, are you okay?”

“I… nevermind. Fuck. Okay, more, uh. Okay.”

He hits him again. And again. It’s good. It hurts but it’s not enough. Why is it never enough? Because he deserves to die. It should have been him. This isn’t enough. He needs to suffer. He wants Karkat to have him on the fucking ground and kick him. Kick him and kick him and whack the dull end of a katana against his back until the skin breaks. Stitch him up with a sewing needle. Fuck. Fuck, he wants that, he wants to feel fucking powerless and scared and he wants to hurt more than he can take, because that’s what he deserves.

“Fuck. More. Hurt me. Kick me.”

Karkat stops. He takes his clenched fist and draws it up to his chest. He looks incredibly fucking distraught. Fuck.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t want to do this. I’m sorry. I really don’t want to do this, it’s fucking weird and it feels terrible, I don’t want to hurt you like this-“ He’s talking really, really fast, and his eyes have kind of a lost look to them.

“Fuck, dude, I uh.”

“I’m sorry, I know it’s just a weird sexual thing for you but I really can’t-“

“It’s fine, Karkat.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Fuck. I’m sorry, Karkat-“

“No! Don’t apologize! You’re not doing anything wrong, it’s just me fucking up, I always fuck up and I want to make you feel better, and I can’t even do this for you.” Tears start to well in his eyes, he blinks them away rapidly and looks at the ground. “I’m sorry.”

“Fuck, no. I mean, you’re allowed to not want to beat me up. That’s. That was kind of fucked up on my part, maybe.”

“It’s just a kink. I hate that I can’t do it for you now. You need it. Fuck.” He shakes his head. “Fuck, can we try again? I’ll do it right this time.”

“No, lets not.”

“Fuck, I’m so sorry-“

“Dude, stop apologizing.” Fuck. This is going so stupidly. And if he doesn’t share something, Karkat is going to just keep fucking blaming himself forever. “I just. Wanted to be in pain and. It wasn’t a sexual thing.”

“What? You lied to me?”

“Yep. A real fuckin fib.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a shitty boyfriend, and I wanted you to beat me up.”

“Wh- why did you _want_ me to beat you up?”

“Because I.” _Deserve it deserve it deserve it deserve it deserve it-_ “Wanted it.”

Weak. Pathetic. 0/10.

Karkat stares at him. “Yeah, I got that the first two times. Why.”

Dave feels the shit bubbling up. It wants to boil over. It wants it. Fuck. He knows the second the lid comes off, it’s not fucking going down until he’s thoroughly humiliated himself. But fuck. Fuck. This isn’t going to go away. He fucked up. Karkat is going to want to know, and Dave doesn’t want to lose him, and fuck, he fucked up, he really fucked up.

He takes a deep breath and looks at the ground. His skin throbs from the scratching and the hitting. “I want to be. Fuckin, karmically punished. Kinda shit.”

Karkat blinks. “What? What the hell does that mean? For wh- oh. Oh.”

Dave sees the realization hit him, and big, dumb wells of tears form in his eyes. Emotions bottle, uncorked, apparently.

“It’s not your fault,” Karkat says quietly.

“Yes it is.” There they go, falling in fat globs down his face. “I could’ve been there.” His voice wobbles. “I could’ve saved him and I didn’t.”

“It’s not your fault. If this is your fault, I. Then my shit is my fault, and you know it’s fucking not.”

Right, because they’ve had this talk before. How Karkat witnessed some of his closest friends killing each other. And he felt responsible, because he should have known they would snap, he should have been a better friend and magically prevented them from being awful.

Dave tries to think of an argument to prove to Karkat why this is totally different, but nothing sticks.

“No, it’s not. Fuck. Fuck you for stumping me. Shit’s not cool.” He laughs weakly and wipes away a tear trail. Pointless, because the waterworks are still coming, but he doesn’t like having that just lingering on his face.

Karkat hugs him. It feels good. He’s warm and safe and loved. He doesn’t deserve it.

“Yeah, well, fuck you for trying to use me to punish yourself, you blistering pus bubble,” he says softly.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. Fuck.”

Karkat runs a hand softly down Dave’s warm, splotchy back. “I’m not gonna pretend it wasn’t fucked up, but just, don’t do it again.”

“I won’t. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Dave.”

“I’m sorry.” It’s easier to cry now that he doesn’t have Karkat looking at him. He nestles into his shoulder and doesn’t try to hold it back. “Sorry. Thank you. Sorry.” Karkat just rubs his back.

He doesn’t say anything more, but he stops trying to push the thoughts away as he cries. He misses John. He wishes he could have done a single fucking thing to save them. John was too fucking young to die. He wishes he could have stopped it. He wishes he could turn back time and do something about it without destroying the universe. He hates that his powers are useless when he needs them the most. He misses John so fucking much and he should have told him how much he fucking cared about him instead of just batting around the shit constantly.

Etc.

When he finally does get to sleep that night, he doesn’t feel good. But he feels a little bit better. He makes up his mind to make it up to Karkat when he can talk again without wanting to cry. Someday.


End file.
